The Life of a Taika Kirin
by theicingandcherryontop
Summary: In a supreme mix up of birth, sometimes baby kirin are born to regular human families. In the last five hundred years, there have been two such species-mixed families. Hear ye, hear ye, the life of Enki and Taiki and their human families.
1. Enki

**Enki**

* * *

"Rokuta," a sweat-glistened woman cooed to her newborn son, placing a finger on his tiny, blotchy nose. The nose twitched and the mother smiled, an intimate and tender smile. "Welcome to the family."

Her husband stood over them, proud face marred by heavy lines of stress. This babe was, as the name suggested, their sixth child – and to be perfectly honest, they hadn't been trying for him. Five mouths to feed had been more than enough. The man worked long hours in the city estate of a low-ranked aristocrat, but he never seemed to make enough. Times were hard, it was difficult to make ends meet for a family of nine. And now they had become ten.

And yet, he wouldn't trade any of them for all the wealth in the world. His elderly, but ever loving mother and father. His dear wife. Ina, his eldest daughter. Ichimaro, his eldest son. The little ones: Kame, Momo, and Shirou. And, now, Rokuta.

Three girls and three boys. A bit large, but a perfect family nonetheless.

Smiling, Takao bent over his youngest child. He placed one calloused hand very gently on the small, sleeping head.

Little Rokuta was worryingly quiet. When he'd been born, he hadn't cried at all. He'd been so still they'd feared him dead. It wasn't until the midwife had begun rigorously toweling the blood and muck off the motionless body that pale eyelids had fluttered and the baby had given a few short cries. He'd blinked at them dazedly, then those bleary eyes fell closed again. Since then, he'd slept without so much as a whimper.

Takao stroked the small head with great care. The babe looked so thin and fragile, much more so than any of his older siblings had. In this age, in this time, it was not common for children like this to survive.

"Grow up strong, son," Takao said, gruff voice unusually soft. "Grow up good and strong. You've got to be the one to bury me, understand? You're going to grow up strong and live a long time past your Da, now, Rokuta."

Like this, Rokuta entered this world.

* * *

Despite his feeble entry, Rokuta soon grew stronger like his father wished. He put on weight quickly, and by the time he was a month old his lungs at least were so strong everyone questioned if they were misremembering his silent beginnings. He seemed a baby like any other, aside from one thing:

The illnesses.

Although usually a hale and hearty babe, little Rokuta was prone to strange and sudden illnesses that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. No one else was sick. There were no onset symptoms. Just all of a sudden he would faint dead in a high fever, or else vomit his guts out and be wracked with chills. They scrapped some money together and took him to a doctor, but in the end they couldn't find out what was wrong with him.

Only once they started him on solid foods did they begin to piece together a pattern: whenever they gave him meat, or fish, or even eggs, that was when he would throw up. It hadn't been obvious when it was his mother who was consuming these things and breastfeeding him later on, but when they fed them to him directly and he immediately gagged and vomited, the cause and effect was crystal clear.

"He probably can't handle such rich fare," his grandmother shrugged. "Some kids are like that. Because their bodies aren't used to it, they can't tolerate it. You have to introduce it in small amounts and slowly increase it as their bodies adjust."

So they tried this, but even the tiniest morsel of flesh mixed into a large meal sent the babe into a violent illness. Soon enough, they gave up. Meat was expensive. If they didn't have to provide it for one more stomach, all the better.

That left only the fainting fits, which were much rarer. They couldn't determine what caused them, so they could only hope it was something he'd grow out of. And indeed as he grew, boldly crawling all about their small house and getting into everything imaginable, it did seem the fits were going away. Soon enough he was pulling himself up against furniture and taking shaky but determined steps holding his parent's hands. He hadn't fainted in months. Nobody thought anything strange about him anymore.

And then he began to talk.

Rokuta did not begin speaking particularly earlier than other children. However, once he started, the rate at which he picked up language was alarming. At a year and a half he could speak as well as the three-year-old Shirou, at age two it would be difficult to distinguish between his speech and that of the eight-year-old Kame. Everyone who met him was astonished.

"It's like he's a child from out of this world," they all said.

Not only his speech, but his whole mind seemed unusually well-developed for his years. He could read and write hiragana and katakana. Sneaking into his father's papers for work, he taught himself various kanji. He did not confuse any of the characters he'd learnt. As for other areas of intelligence … forget learning to count, his fingers were flying over the household abacus. He was making suggestions to his mother on how to stretch the family budget to fill their table as the bewildered woman led him by the hand through the marketplace.

His parents and grandparents watched this all in amazement bordering on disquiet. His siblings, however, were too young to realize the degree to which Rokuta was more intelligent than a two-year-old should be. To them, he was just their smart baby brother – a point of pride and no little bragging to their friends.

Naturally, their friends quickly got tired of this. Ichimaro in particular annoyed one of his friends so much they got into a fight over whose little brother was smarter. After being chastised by the local temple priest for fighting in class and set back to their abacuses with boxed ears, they set a time and place to pit their little brothers against each other, so to speak, to prove once and for all whose was best.

* * *

Rokuta followed his eldest brother obediently through the streets of Kyoto, hand in hand. _You wanna come play with my friend and me,_ Ichimaro had asked, and Rokuta had agreed happily. He skipped along as he walked, chatting idly with his big brother, small legs hurrying to keep up with longer legs' pace.

Finally they were in the yard outside the temple Ichimaro attended in preparation for the day he took his father's place serving Lord Ota. Classes were over for the day, so the yard was empty of anyone save his brother's friend and a boy about Rokuta's age. Rokuta looked on this other small boy is great interest.

There were other kids his age on his street, but for some reason when he tried to approach them to play their mothers would pull them away from him, smiling tightly and shooing him off with strained excuses. It was the same with the older children; if the parents were around, suddenly there'd be some reason Rokuta couldn't play with them. So Rokuta rarely got to play with children other than his siblings.

Hence his excitement today.

Ichimaro took Rokuta to the pair of other boys, introducing them with, "Rokuta, this is my friend Hirusuke and his brother Kosuke. Hiru, Ko-chan, this is my brother Rokuta."

Rokuta bobbed his head. "Nice to meet ya."

Hirusuke also said _Nice to meet ya_. Kosuke didn't say anything, just peered back at Rokuta with wide, blinking eyes.

"Hey, Rokuta," Ichimaro grinned, "You wanna play with the abacus for a bit?"

Rokuta blinked once at Ichimaro. He knew what answer Ichimaro wanted him to give, but he also knew what response _he_ wanted to give.

"No. That's boring."

"Oh, come on, just for a bit," Ichimaro wheedled, motioning him to stay put as he ran to borrow an abacus from the temple monks.

A few minutes later Ichimaro returned with a very small abacus worn from being practiced on by numerous small children. He placed it before Rokuta. Rokuta eyed it flatly. This was not at all how he'd pictured this afternoon going.

"Now, what's six by twelve?"

Rokuta didn't bother to touch the abacus. "Seventy-two."

"Twelve by twenty?"

"Two hundred forty."

"Two hundred forty by five hundred ninety eight?"

"Is there a point to this?"

"Just try it," Ichimaro smiled, pushing the abacus towards him.

Rokuta gave a long sigh, and irritatedly flipped through the beads to just get the answer and get to play already. He looked up. "One hundred forty-three thousand, five hundred twenty."

"Give me that!" Hirusuke demanded, snatching away the abacus.

He flipped it to the start set up and slowly counted out the beads once, then once again. He turned back to the smug Ichimaro was a scowl. "You cheated! You told him the answers beforehand!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did _not_!"

"Did _so_!"

"Did –"

"Stop fighting!"

The two older boys had gotten up in each other's faces as they yelled. Rokuta now planted himself between them, with small hands pushing them apart. They stumbled back more out of surprise than anything.

Hands on hips, Rokuta faced the two eleven-year-olds with a scowl. He had finally realized what was going on here.

"Do I look like some kind of monkey, here to dance and perform for your amusement?" he demanded of his brother. Turning to the other boy, he chided, "Well? Are you satisfied now you've scared your own brother in order to get your fill of your friend's?"

Rokuta gestured to where Kosuke was cowering to the side, frightened by all the yelling. His lip trembled; he looked near tears.

"Ah – crap –" Hirusuke's hands fluttered helplessly over his little brother. "Ko-chan, it's all okay, Nii-chan's not mad…"

Kosuke gave a loud wail, dissolving into noisy sobs.

Rokuta wrapped his arms around him, rubbing soothing circles on his back the way he did when his four-year-old brother Shirou got like this. Kosuke clung to him, burying his teary face into Rokuta's shoulder. They stood like this a long while, their older brothers averting their gaze, shame-faced.

Eventually Kosuke's sobs slowed into mere sniffles. Rokuta pulled away a bit, taking hold of Kosuke's hand. "Hey, Ko-chan, do you like hide-and-seek?"

Still sniffling, Kosuke nodded.

"Do you want to play?"

Kosuke nodded again.

"Right then, let's go hide, and Ichi-nii and Hiru-nii can come find us." He gave the two older boys a stern look. "Assuming they can manage that nicely?"

Coloring at being told off by a boy so much younger than them, the eleven-year-olds nodded quickly.

"Good. Now close your eyes and give us until the count of fifty."

When they sheepishly complied, Rokuta put a finger on his lips and pulled on Kosuke's hand, gesturing to a hidden little alcove in the corner of the yard. He started towards it and Kosuke trotted after him, still clinging to Rokuta tightly.

They passed the afternoon in various games after that, laughing and calling out across the yard. Soon enough they'd all forgotten their rocky start, and when the sun started to go down bid each other goodbyes with reluctance.

It wasn't until Rokuta and Ichimaro saw a tall, lithe figure stalking up to them outside their house that they remembered why they'd gone out in the first place.

"Ah – Ina-nee …"

At fourteen, Ina towered over the both of them, the stern look on her face quite cowing.

"What's this I hear about some 'whose got the smartest little brother' contest?" she demanded.

Neither bothered to ask how she knew. As the eldest child, Ina worked for various families in the neighbor to help make ends meet, doing everything from washing dishes to caring for children to mucking out horses. Because every day she went from house to house like this, she was always the first to hear every rumor.

"I can't believe you. If it's a pissing contest you want, then do it yourself! Don't drag Rokuta into weird things."

"It's fine, Ina-nee," Rokuta spoke up, putting a hand on the chastised Ichimaro's back. "I talked to him about it. He already feels bad, there's no need to make him feel worse."

Ina gave Ichimaro one last glare. "You're lucky it was Rokuta – if you'd pulled that crap with me, I'd have slugged you in the face." She turned. "Come on, Ma says dinner's ready whether you are or not."

As they turned to go into the house, Ichimaro shot Rokuta a grateful look. Rokuta smiled, and squeezed the bigger hand holding his.

* * *

That night at dinner, as Rokuta chatted with his siblings, he overheard his grandfather saying to his father,

"It seems Yoshimi-sama has agreed."

Rokuta cocked his head to the side, falling silent as he tried to hear the adult talk taking place a few seats over.

Japan was ruled by the Emperor, the descendent of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu. But actually, it was better to say that Japan was ruled by the Emperor's right hand, the Shogun. However, the current Shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimasa, had no heir to the pseudo-throne. He'd been married many years, but his wife had produced no son. So if something were to happen to him, the future of the country lay in great uncertainty.

As such, in recent years Yoshimasa had reached out to his younger brother, Yoshimi, to offer to formally adopt him as his heir. However, Yoshimi was a Buddhist monk and such worldly things went against his vows. To accept the position of Shogun's heir, he'd have to leave the order of monks. And so he'd been prevaricating, swaying back and forth and saying _maybe_, since as long as Rokuta had been aware of such things.

If Yoshimi had finally resolved himself, though, that changed everything.

"Really?" came his grandmother's biting, dry voice. "And I thought he was beyond worldly attachments. How disappointing."

"Oh, don't say that, Mother. It was good of him to give up something he loves in order to do what's right for the country. Now we can finally rest assured of our futures."

"How can I rest assured with someone that easily swayed in charge?"

Whatever his mother said in reply, Rokuta didn't manage to catch, as just then six-year-old Momo leaned over to him and asked peevishly, "Rokuta, are you even listening to me?"

"Ah," he smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I _said_, and then Fuji-chan told me there's a tree near her grandma's farm that has fruit with the same name as me."

"Ah, yes." He'd seen the small orange-pink fruits when he accompanied his mother to the marketplace, but never tasted one. Their family did not have money to waste on such luxuries.

Momo pouted. "I don't wanna be a fruit! I wanna be one hundred, and live a nice long life!"

"No reason you can't be both," Rokuta said, and grinned mischievously. "Besides, if we're using our names to determine our lifespans, then what's to become of me? I guess I'm gonna have to just keel over and die at six."

Momo looked so horrified he felt a bit bad. "No way!" she shrieked, leaning closer to him as if he were about to sicken and die right in front of her. "You have to live to be a hundred with me!"

"Sorry, no can do. I'm just a six, you see. How could I keep up with a one hundred?"

Momo planted her hands on the table. "I'll get Fuji-chan to get you one of my fruits!" she promised. "If you eat it, you'll gain Momo-power and we can be together forever!"

"I thought you were one hundred, not a fruit?"

"No reason I can't be both!"

Rokuta just grinned and Momo froze, realizing what he'd done. With a shriek, she grabbed her empty plate and started whacking him on the head with it.

"You tricked me, you tricked me!"

Rokuta ducked under the assault, throwing up an arm and laughingly warding off his angry sister. Across the table the adults' conversation broke off as they hurried to intervene. Rokuta could no longer eavesdrop on the adult talk, but he was unbothered by this.

In the end, nobles were nobles and commoners were commoners. They inhabited two separate worlds. However the Shogun resolved his succession issue, that was his problem. It had nothing to do with Rokuta.

Highfalutin stuff like that, how could it have an effect on him?

* * *

"Did you hear? It seems Yoshimasa-sama's wife, Tomiko-sama, will have a child."

"Then what about Yoshimi-sama?"

"Nobody said it had to be a boy."

"Yeah, a girl would be nice. They've finally settled the succession, no need to throw a son into mix and stir it all up again."

"But wouldn't a son make for a stronger heir?"

"Don't go saying things like that where them big-shots can hear you!"

"In any case, we should all pray for a girl."

* * *

On the eleventh of Kannazuki that year, Ashikaga Tomiko gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

One hundred and twenty-six days later, Kyoto burnt to the ground.

* * *

Rokuta opened his eyes. It was the dead of night.

He had been awakened by the sound of voices. The whispers crawled through the darkness. His mother and father were conversing outside the house.

It was less a house than walls and a roof formed by straw mats strung across four poles. The bare earth was his bed. The trill of insects filling the night spoke to the lateness of the season. But he didn't have even a blanket to burrow under, only the shared body heat of his brothers and sisters.

The family had enjoyed better accommodations in the past. But they were no more, reduced to ashes in a city consumed by fire.

"We have no choice," his father said under his breath.

"But—" his mother stammered. "He may be the youngest but he is so smart it's frightening."

Rokuta shivered in the darkness. Now that it was clear they were talking about him, the fog of sleep abruptly fled.

"Still—"

"He's got a good head on his shoulders. Other children his age have barely learned to talk. It's almost like he's from another world."

"That's true. But no matter what else, he is still just a child. He won't understand what's happening."

"That is not what concerns me. That child is not normal. I fear that anybody who takes his life will be cursed."

Rokuta tugged his collar up around his ears, curled into a ball, and tried to fall asleep. He didn't want to hear what his ears were telling him. Though he wasn't yet four years old, he knew what this conversation was about.

The voices droned on. He did his best not to listen, driving consciousness from his mind, forcing himself to fall asleep.

* * *

A lonely, desolate mountain slope, no road or path in any direction. A painfully small figure lay on the ground, skeletal and corpselike. One could count every one of his bones. He didn't move, the weak rise and fall of his chest or occasional flutter of half-closed eyes the only signs by which to discern he was not yet dead.

Out there in the depths of the wilderness, innumerable animals passed by him. Though some looked nearly as starved as he, none bothered him. Vultures wheeled on overhead without pause, wild dogs whined and licked his face before trotting away. Nothing tried to eat him, though he was perfect easy pickings. Instead, the occasional creature would lie next to him for a while, as if to warm one of their own. It didn't matter if it was a rabbit or bear, deer or wolf – all the animals of the mountain tried to comfort him in this way.

Thrown away by human civilization, the wild mountain drew his dying self into its embrace, accepting him as kin. The son of someplace no human tread, lord of even the most ferocious of beasts.

One night, a strange creature descended on the mountain.

She – for the creature was clearly female – was like nothing that had ever set foot there before. Half-woman, half-beast, her wide feathered wings like a birds' beat powerfully as she closed on the mountain from above. Dropping into a dive, she landed lightly on her clawed feet, long fur-covered tail wrapping loosely around her. She folded her great wings and straightened, revealing a woman's bare body where grey feathers melted into grey fur. Her face was like that of a human woman's, except for her yellow raptor-like eyes and grey scales edging out from under her short grey hair.

The yellow eyes scanned her surroundings, cast low as though she were seeking something close to the ground. She moved slowly and cautiously through the mountain, parting the undergrowth with her clawed hands. Like this, she searched until the first rays of the sun began peeking over the horizon.

Suddenly, she came to a stop. She let out a sharp gasp, her nearly human face twisting in anguish. She ran forwards, and her footsteps sounded out clear in the fading night.

She fell to her knees and bent over a tiny figure, clawed fingers exceptionally careful as they were laid to his chest. Her fearful face gave way to stark relief as that chest almost imperceptibly rose and fell. Carefully, oh so carefully, she drew the fragile child – hardly more than a skeleton – into her furred and feathered arms. Hugging him close to her chest, she laid her head lovingly against his and murmured in pure adoration,

"Enki."

She hugged him tighter, and spread her wings. With one and then two powerful beats, they rose above the trees, soaring high into the sky.

Leaving behind the world below.

* * *

Seven years went by, and the mountain outside the capital of Hourai remained unchanged even as the city beside it was laid to waste. Smoke and the rot of death hung pungent in the air. Scenes like the one that had taken place between a boy and his father occurred over and over, men and women leading tiny docile figures far off the mountain's treacherous winding paths, returning alone. Small broken skeletons dotted the slopes, wild beasts ripping flesh off fragile little bones.

In this time and place, an abandoned child was not at all uncommon.

What was uncommon was for that child to live, and grow, and return.

* * *

A dot appeared in the sky.

At first it could be mistaken for a far off bird, but the way it rapidly plummeted to the earth would have struck anyone as distinctly unbirdlike. As the dot drew nearer, another shape, a larger shape, appeared like a haze around it, engulfing it. This larger shape spread great wings, and the plummet slowed.

The figures drifting down to the earth belonged to a strange creature that seemed half-woman, half-animal or –bird, and a boy of about nine summers. They touched the ground lightly, the woman's clawed feet sinking into the dirt.

"I'm okay, Yokuhi," said the young boy. He pushed at the woman's furred chest. "Put me down."

The strange woman, Yokuhi, complied. As his feet touched the earth, she asked in obvious confusion, "Enki, why have you come to this place?"

The boy didn't reply, merely brushed down his windswept clothing. It was of a cut that had never before been seen in this land and clearly very expensive, made of pure silk trimmed with gold. Jade beads hung around his neck. The only thing that didn't fit was a plain burlap sack slung carelessly across his right shoulder.

The boy adjusted his sack, and started forwards. Yokuhi hurried after him.

"The shouzan will soon be commencing again," she said to the boy's unturned back. "You must return to Mount Hou."

"Hell no."

"The nyosen must be very worried."

"Like that's anything new."

"The people of En await their king."

The boy stopped, and finally turned to her. His eyes flashed. A sharp barb appeared in his voice. "Well, they can just keep on waiting, then."

Yokuhi looked aghast. "How can you say such a thing? If you don't find a king soon…"

The boy's face darkened. "You're dismissed, Yokuhi."

"But – "

"I'm gonna be heading in to town. There'll be a lot of humans. Better make yourself scarce."

Though clearly unhappy, the half-woman bowed to him. Then she began to sink, as though the ground beneath her had turned into quick sand. Like this, she sank into the earth until it had swallowed her whole. All that could be seen was the boy's shadow where she had once been.

The boy turned, and continued on his way. As he did, his shadow pled with him. He didn't say one word in reply, his angry stride the only indication that he had not gone suddenly deaf. As he drew onto a wider road and began to pass houses, the unseen voice died away. He continued on in silence towards a city that was little more than ash.

His feet traced ruined paths with old ease, leading him up to what had once been a bustling marketplace. He picked his way through the now straggled stalls and approached a man selling clothes. The boy took off his rough sack and opened it, spilling its contents on the table.

"How much can I get for these?" he asked.

The man gawked. There, on the table, was a pile of silk clothes. Going through them, they were child's clothing of a strange cut, like what the boy himself wore. The man didn't carry enough money to buy such things, and said so.

"Then can I trade them for those instead?" the boy said, pointing to rough peasants clothes meant for a boy about his size. Understanding dawned on the man.

"I don't sell to runaways," he said shortly. "Run on back to your parents, kid."

"I intend to, but I can hardly show up like this."

The man eyed the boy suspiciously. No matter which way he looked at him, the boy had to be the son of some lord, and no middling one at that. Go against a man like that and it would be his neck on the line. He wasn't risking that for some spoiled rotten young master.

"There's kids out there who'd kill to live in a household like yours," he scolded the boy. He looked well-fed and well-groomed, no bruises to be seen, hands soft and tender in a way that spoke of no work to fill them. "Be grateful for what you have."

The boy scowled, and gathered his clothes up again, throwing them carelessly back into the sack. He wandered from stall to stall, and soon enough found someone willing to trade him their son's spare cotton clothes in exchange for his clothes of silk. From there, the boy determinedly made his way to a lean-to shack at the edge of town, and knocked on the door.

An old woman opened it. The boy blinked, obviously greatly taken aback.

"Yes?" the old woman squinted at him, leaning on the frail doorframe of her tiny home.

"Um… do Nene and Takao and their children still live here?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, just me."

"Oh…" the boy looked at a loss. "Um, then do you know where they are now?"

The old woman shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, boy," she said, and closed her door.

The boy looked around as though he'd suddenly found himself in the middle of the sea. He turned to the next door over, and hesitantly knocked. He repeated this all down the street.

"Sorry, could you help me? I'm looking for my parents."

"Do you know Nene and Takao?"

"Do you know where the family that used to live in that house over there went?"

He wandered the streets, asking everyone. But he couldn't find out a thing. The houses here were simple huts, people coming and going every month, to say nothing of over the last six years. The city had been burned so many times people had lost track of their own families, to say nothing of his.

Rokuta turned from the city of devastation. He had nothing to do and no place to return to. The voices in his shadow spoke up more insistently, begging him to return to Mount Hou. He ignored them, and eventually they fell quiet in resignation.

* * *

Rokuta took to the road with no destination and no companion, no one to talk to or simply keep him company.

Despite this, Rokuta was not lonely.

Kirin were not social animals. A human, from birth to death, lived in a society of others of his species who depended on one another to survive. But what did kirin need herd instincts for, when they so rarely met other kirin? They did not have parents. They did not have siblings. They did not seek out a mate and have children – even this one universal instinct did not apply to them.

Even Rokuta, who'd been abnormally socialized among a human family, did not possess true social instincts. If he couldn't get his own family back, he had no desire to create a make-shift family of strangers. Nor did any instinct propel him to do so. He wanted _his _parents and _his _siblings alone. Unlike a human child, he had no instincts urging him to seek out any adult caregiver who'd take him.

Rokuta didn't need a caregiver. He was perfectly fine on his own. If his parents had left him behind, through death or simple relocation, then he didn't need anyone. He didn't have the instincts for it in the first place. The sole natural social instinct a kirin possessed was aimed not at parents or family, but at just one individual in the whole world: his master.

And yet, Rokuta had forsaken his master. He had gone so far as to flee the world itself, just to avoid this one person his instincts would supposedly pull him towards.

So Rokuta was _not_ lonely.

And if ever he felt achingly empty inside, like he was missing half his soul, he pushed the feeling away in disgust. If the only person who could make him feel whole was the king, then he would live and die achingly hollow.

* * *

Like this, Rokuta wandered all alone for three years.

After three years had gone by, he met the man he'd fled Mount Hou to avoid. But when the time came for him come face to face with the smiling countenance of Komatsu Saburou Naotaka, Rokuta thought that spending his life with this man might not be such a terrible thing, after all.

* * *

**/****

**The bit where Rokuta's parents discuss abandoning him was taken straight out of the prologue of _Poseidon of the East_.**

**Rokuta's name has the kanji for _six_ in it and he's mentioned having brothers and sisters so I always assumed he was the sixth kid. One of his sisters died fleeing the first burning of Kyoto, and another sister and a brother died in abject poverty in that little shack, and Rokuta still had siblings left who he was sleeping among when he heard his parents planning to abandon him, so that does rather lend itself to the idea he had about five siblings.**

****/**


	2. Taiki

**Taiki**

* * *

In the land of Hourai, there was once a great romance. It went like this:

A lonely, penniless young girl in miserable circumstances met a gentlemanly, well-off man. The two soon fell in love, but the man's social circle cried out against such a match. He must not marry her. She was poor and connectionless and brought nothing. He would be marrying below himself. On and on they criticized her to him, but the man's affections held firm.

The two were married. It was a beautiful, fairytale day. At the end, they climbed aboard a car decorated in pure white to begin their happily ever after together.

Happily ever after, however, was not something easily maintained.

* * *

When Setsuko had married the love of her life, what she hadn't quite realized was that she was also, in a sense, marrying his mother.

Her husband, Hibiki, was a dutiful man. As such, he wouldn't dream of leaving his ageing, widowed mother on her own. He took his wife home to his mother's house, the house he'd grown up in, the house he wanted his children to grow up in. The house that his mother had ruled for as long as he could remember – and being a dutiful son, he saw no reason why that should change.

And so Setsuko entered her mother-in-law's house and fell under her reign – under her condemning eyes and sharp tongue.

Izumi had always been one of Setsuko's harshest detractors. The things she said weren't objectively worse than the other criticisms Setsuko faced from her new husband's family and friends, but she had a particularly harsh way of saying them that left Setsuko in tears more often than not. The first few months had been pure hell, with Izumi railing against her and Setsuko breaking down and crying right in front of her new mother-in-law, then being railed at some more for being such a weak little thing who could never do right for her sweet boy Hibiki.

In time, Setsuko had learned to hold in her tears until she'd gotten somewhere private. Taking the cleaning supplies into the bathroom and running the taps to hide the sound of her sobs worked best, she found. Izumi relented a bit after the useless thing her son had brought home at least stopped bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, but she still found fault in Setsuko's cooking, her cleaning, her style of dressing, her friends. Nothing Setsuko did was ever good enough.

That's why Setsuko was relieved when she fell pregnant within the first year of marriage. Her mother-in-law wanted grandsons to carry on the family name, and so Setsuko prayed with all her might for a boy. And, at last, she gave birth to just that, the firstborn son they'd all hoped for.

Yet, her mother-in-law still wasn't satisfied.

"Such a weak little thing," Izumi sniffed, watching as the nurses bathed the newborn.

There's been complications and in the end Setsuko had had to have a C-section – which of course Izumi had also criticized, _young mothers these days can't even become mothers on their own_ – so the baby came out positively covered in blood. That the small, blood-coated figure had been so limp and silent had Setsuko quite anxious.

Her worries were only worsen by Izumi's relentless complaints.

"Doesn't even cry," Izumi pursed her lips into a thin line. "Doesn't even open his eyes. Like he's dead to the world."

Just then, as if to contradict her, there came a sharp little cry from the nurse's arms.

Izumi stiffened, an angry flush coloring her cheeks. Blessedly silenced, she turned and stormed out the room. Setsuko gave a sigh of relief, holding out her arms to the nurses bringing her newly cleaned son back. He'd fallen silent again, sleeping with a tiny wrinkle in his little brow.

Setsuko hugged him close to her chest, letting her own weary eyes fall shut for the first time in two days.

* * *

They brought Kaname home much later than they'd thought, since from the moment of his birth he'd been running a fever. The doctors said that a newborn's temperature regulatory systems were immature and it was nothing to be too concerned by, even as they frowned and ran test after test on the baby. At last the fever broke and they were sent home with instructions to be careful to keep him neither too hot nor too cold, and bring him straight back if his temperature went above thirty-nine degrees.

Setsuko checked her son's temperature diligently, but to her relief it remained under the cautioned limit. However, that was not to say Kaname was healthy. He was listless and feeble, constantly beset by some strange malady. Scarcely a day went by that he didn't throw up at least once, then collapse into chills if not faint dead away. Her mother-in-law railed against Setsuko's childrearing practices even as she was at a loss to explain what was wrong with her grandson. Setsuko took Kaname to many doctors, but none could find anything wrong with him. Unable to hold much milk down, Kaname was becoming thinner and thinner. They had to get IV treatments for him. Setsuko was at her wit's end.

Then, the run-down Setsuko got into a minor car accident and had to take heavy painkillers for a few weeks. Her doctor recommended that she not breastfeed during this time, and so Setsuko went out and bought infant formula. Suddenly, Kaname stopped throwing up. He began to put on weight and wake up for longer periods, for the first time blinking around with bright interest at the world around him. He grew stronger day by day.

Seeing this, Izumi began to criticize Setsuko more harshly. What kind of mother was she, that she couldn't even feed her child herself? How could powder and water produce milk superior to hers? How did she expect to raise a family this way?

The bathroom became very clean, so often did Setsuko hide in there to weep.

Finally, Kaname was old enough to start on solid foods, and Izumi's grumblings against her daughter-in-law were forgotten. Forgotten in face of her tirades against her six-month-old grandson, who refused to eat over half the baby foods they bought for him.

"It's the meat," Setsuko was at last able to explain to her mother-in-law. "He can't eat it, or anything with it. He's fine for the other mixes. I think he might be allergic."

It had taken Setsuko quite a while to work this out. At first she'd simply bought the baby food brands her friends swore by. However, she'd soon found that it was absolutely impossible to get most of them into her own child. So she'd switched brands, and found the same thing. She'd switched brands several more times, and then decided to try homemade baby food and see if that worked better.

Doing this, she found that pureed fruits and boiled vegetables were met with bright smiles and curious little fingers. Minced meat or fish, as well as mashed egg, triggered hair-raising shrieks as though the baby were being murdered. He wouldn't let these things anywhere near his face. At their approach he would wildly flail his arms in wide-eyed terror, as though under attack.

Setsuko had to have her husband hold back her son's arms and use her spare hand to pry his lips open to at last manage to get some minced codfish into his mouth. He'd immediately spat it out, and then vomited. They'd tried again a few days later, this time covering his mouth to force him to swallow down some mashed up chicken. After going blue, he'd swallowed it with tears rolling down his face. Then he'd gagged like he was choking, and vomited it right back out.

They'd tried this with every meat or fish they could think of, with the same results. Kaname began to lose weight again, crying from hunger, chewing everything available. He lost the strength to fight at mealtime. And yet, even though he'd listlessly open his mouth and swallow whatever his parents gave him, he still couldn't seem to keep down any meat.

This was when Setsuko had started to worry that maybe it wasn't just the taste, maybe he was actually allergic.

"Stuff and nonsense!" Izumi scoffed. "Who ever heard of a meat allergy? Young mothers these days are always convinced their children are so special. He just doesn't like it. He knows if he raises a fuss he'll get something more agreeable to his picky tastes. Children are clever; they'll run circles around you if you let them. You listen to me: just keep showing him it's this food or no food and he'll quiet down soon enough. They all do."

But Setsuko wasn't convinced. She took Kaname to a specialist, to have him tested for allergies. They tried every test available, but weren't able to find anything.

"It's probably a subconscious association," the doctor told her. "Something set off the gag reflex the first time he ate these things, and now that he associates the taste with vomiting his body does it automatically. Stop feeding it to him for a while. Once he's forgotten the taste, reintroduce it and he should be fine."

Izumi had harrumphed at this, but thankfully Hibiki, sick to death of the argument and crying baby, took Setsuko's side. Though this only increased Izumi's resentment towards that good-for-nothing weak-willed thing her son had married, Setsuko found she was too tired to cry about it.

And so for the next six months Kaname's meals consisted entirely of greens and tofu and lentils, a strangely vegetarian diet for a child who should be too small to comprehend the difference between a meat and a vegetable. He ate these meals quite happily and unusually tidily for his age, never throwing food and only rarely spilling on his pristine white bib. Mealtimes were peaceful affairs.

Then Kaname's first birthday passed, and Izumi's patience was at its limit.

"This has gone on long enough!"

She pointed to the dressing-free spinach salad and cucumber-lentil onigiri Kaname was eating for lunch.

"How is he supposed to grow up strong on rabbit food like that!"

"Mother, we have to wait until we're sure the subconscious association is broken…"

"It's long broken, I say! Six months is more than enough time for him to forget his own mother, much less a food he didn't like. What are you going to do when the second one comes?" Izumi gestured to Setsuko's bulging belly. "Humor every whim for both of them? It's time we show them who's in charge of who in this house."

They argued about it for months, but after Suguru came along Hibiki put his foot down and said enough was enough.

"We've got another child now," he said, nodding to the newborn Suguru screaming his lungs out as Setsuko tried to rock him quiet. "We can't just center everything around Kaname anymore. It's time he learned to eat properly."

And at the word of the man of the house, the matter was settled.

* * *

"Kaname, we've got a special new food for you tonight. Go wash your hands before dinner. Daddy will be in with dinner soon."

"Okay," said the sixteen-month-old with a smile.

He ran off to the washroom, pushing up his stool and scrubbing his hands with soap and water before making his way back to his mother. Seeing her beginning to set the table, he offered eagerly,

"I help Mommy?"

Setsuko smiled. "Thank you, sweetie. Why don't you go get the cups?"

Kaname nodded and ran off to kitchen, standing on tiptoe to reach the cupboard the cups were kept in. Since his hands were so small he had to carry the cups in one by one, climbing on and off chairs to set them on the table. He then picked up the water pitcher, carefully hugging it to his chest with both arms to determinedly carry it in as well.

"Thank you," laughed Setsuko, taking the pitcher from his small arms. It was too heavy for Kaname to carry, however carefully and determinedly he attempted to do so.

Kaname deflated a bit, looking disappointed. Just then there came the sound of the door opening, followed by Hibiki calling out a greeting. Kaname brightened back up in an instant.

"Daddy!" he cried in delight, running over. "Welcome home!"

But then he suddenly stopped. His eyes locked on the plain brown take-out boxes in his father's arms. Kaname's smile vanished, replaced with a fearful expression.

"This is… food?" he asked, recoiling. He put a hand over his nose and took a step back.

Setsuko and Hibiki exchanged a look. They'd decided take-out would be their best option to wean Kaname onto meat, since Kaname disliked the smell of cooking meat. It would appear his nose was sharper than they'd imagined.

"It's gyuudon," Hibiki scowled, obviously annoyed that even going out of their way to pick up precooked meat hadn't managed to fool their son. "Go sit down. Don't judge it until you try it."

Kaname slumped and made his way over to his chair, pulling himself up. As his father set his dinner in front of him he shrank away, staring down at it morosely with his nose still covered.

His father sat down at the head of the table, and clapped his hands together. "Itadakimasu."

"Itadakimasu," they all echoed, and picked up their chopsticks.

After a brief minute of hesitation, Kaname picked up his plastic baby spoon, opened his box, and began to eat. Setsuko's whole body relaxed like she'd given a sigh of relief.

Dinner time continued surprisingly peacefully. Kaname was eating slowly, but with surprisingly little hesitation. At length, he put down his spoon and asked,

"May I be excused please?"

Setsuko looked over to tell him _you may_, only to see into his take-out box and sigh. Kaname had picked out every grain of rice and every slice of onion. The pieces of beef, however, neatly lined the bottom of the box, untouched. She wasn't even sure how he'd accomplished that with that big clunky spoon of his.

Izumi pursed her lips at the picked over food.

"Young man, you have not finished," she said sternly.

Kaname hung his head. "I can't…" he said, voice wavering.

"You most certainly can, and will."

"I can't! It's ouchie. Red water's bad smell. I can't eat it."

"Stuff and nonsense," Izumi's nostrils flared. "You can eat it, and you _will_ eat it."

"I can't! Please, may I please be excused?"

"First, finish your food."

"Please," he begged again, eyes shining with tears. "I can't. Red water smell. Scary. Bad."

"Do not lie! Beef is very good for you. You will eat all your food or you will sit here all night."

The tears in Kaname's eyes began to roll down his cheeks. His whole body shook with the force of his sobs.

Izumi reached over the table and slapped him across the face. "Stop that right this minute!"

But Kaname only cried harder. Soon, he was breathless and hiccupping from the force of it.

In the end he cried himself to sleep, right there at the table. They woke him several times to try to coax the meat into him again. But all through the night, Kaname refused to take one bite.

"Such a stubborn child," said Izumi, anger mixed with amazement.

"Please, Mother," Setsuko begged, looking wretchedly at her baby's tear-blotched face pressed into the hard table. There was a red mark where his grandmother had struck him. "It's already midnight. He should long be in bed. He's too tired for this. Let's just put him to bed and try again tomorrow."

"I told him he would sit here all night if he didn't finish, and I won't have you make a liar out of me. This is his punishment for disobedience."

"But Mother, if we let him sleep like this, he'll ache tomorrow."

"And all the better for it. That'll serve to remind him of the wicked, ungrateful things he did."

"He only left a bit of dinner –"

"A bit of dinner? You know the value of food as little as that child! Do you think we could afford to turn our noses up like this during the war? You young people these days have forgotten what a sin it is to waste a single grain of rice! You're a spoiled, ungrateful girl, and because of you my grandchild is already a spoiled, ungrateful boy. I'll have none of your new age weak-hearted substandard parenting. If you can't muster up the backbone to say no for his own good, then I shall do so myself – of course, I expected nothing more from someone like _you_ to begin with. I knew from the minute you walked through these doors I couldn't depend on such a good-for-nothing thing for the measliest chore. What a wretch it is to be proven right!"

After a long while of yelling at her, Izumi had at last yelled herself to exhaustion, and headed off to bed. Hibiki too had long since wandered off to their bedroom, yawning. Setsuko muttered something about cleaning up for a bit, and silently puttered about the kitchen until she was sure the other members of the house were fast asleep.

Then she locked herself in the bathroom and let out the cries she'd held in all night.

She curled up in a ball against the tub, her face pressed into a quickly dampening towel. Her frame shook as she thought on the things Izumi had said about her. Setsuko saw again Izumi raise her hand against baby Kaname. Guilt twisted in her stomach. She'd hadn't stopped it, hadn't even tried to stop it. What kind of mother was she, to let her child be hit and screamed at like that? Even now that Izumi was long gone, Setsuko couldn't find the courage to go pick Kaname up and tuck him into bed.

She was a failure as a mother. She couldn't even get her child to eat. She couldn't protect him from his grandmother's cruel tongue or punishments. She couldn't …

Suddenly the door – the door Setsuko could have sworn she'd locked – creaked open. Setsuko jumped to her feet, heart pounding, excuses on her tongue.

But only small, wide eyes blinked at her. She blinked back.

"Kaname?"

"Mommy's sad?" he asked in a very small voice.

Setsuko hurriedly wiped her face. "No, of course not, sweetie."

He stepped in, small feet pattering as he ran up to her and took her hand in his smaller ones.

"Why's Mommy cry?"

Setsuko shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no reason. No reason at all."

Then, a thought struck her. She crouched down to be eye-to-eye with her son.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Kaname, do you want to make Mommy happy?"

He nodded vigorously.

"There's something only you can do that'll make Mommy very happy. But you'll have to be very, very brave. Can you do that for Mommy?"

He nodded again, wide eyes bright with determination. She smiled and stood, leading him by the hand to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out the half-empty take-out box.

The hand in hers started to tremble.

Setsuko faltered, but after a moment of indecision closed the fridge door, take-out box still in her hand. She braced herself for what must be done. This was the only way. Izumi would give neither of them any quarter until Kaname learned to eat meat. It was good for him, besides.

This was what good mothers did, right?

Wordlessly, Setsuko picked Kaname up and seated him on the nearest chair. It was just a regular chair, not his high chair, so his arms barely reached the table. She handed him one of his spoons, and pushed the take-out box in front of him.

She crouched down to look him in the eye, smiling hopefully. "Could you eat this for Mommy? To make Mommy happy?"

He looked like a helpless baby animal backed into a corner, bloodthirsty beast stalking up it. "Then…" he said tremulously, "then Mommy not cry?"

Setsuko nodded, forcing her encouraging, hopeful smile to stay in place as her son picked up his plastic baby spoon with a quivering hand, scooped up some of the beef. For a long moment he started at it with wide eyes, face turning quite green. Then, very quickly as though so as to not lose his nerve, he shoved the spoon in his mouth.

He immediately dropped the spoon as though burnt, gagging and spitting out the meat, hand flying to his mouth and tears gathering in his eyes.

He shook his head. "I can't," he mumbled through clamped fingers.

Setsuko sighed deeply, the disappointment twice as sharp after that brief glimmer of hope.

"You did your best… it's ok…"

Tears still gathered in the corners of his eyes, Kaname watched his mother close the box with a slump to her shoulders. Wearily, she began to stand, smile gone.

"Wait…" a small voice called. Setsuko looked at her son in surprise.

Kaname held out a hand for the box, wordlessly asking for it. She just as wordlessly set it down in front of him, opening it. He dug in determinedly with his spoon. He gagged, but clamped his hands over his mouth. Still gagging, he determinedly chewed, and swallowed.

And then threw up.

Setsuko hastily grabbed the take-out box. "Thank you, sweetie, Mommy feels much better! You've been a big help. That's all for tonight! Now, let's get you to bed!"

"Granny …"

"She said you would sit there until you ate the meat, right? And you ate it! It's bedtime – let's go, you can choose a story for Mommy to read to you."

Setsuko picked up her son and carried him to bed. She'd have to clean up the vomit before morning, and inconspicuously dispose of the remaining beef, but she could now honestly tell Izumi that Kaname had eaten meat. That should satisfy her.

For now.

* * *

A twenty-month-old Kaname sat petrified at the table, trembling as he stared at the plate full of karage chicken in front of him.

His grandmother scowled. "For heaven's sake, just eat your food, child!"

"It makes me feel sick."

"No more lies and excuses!"

"Please, couldn't I have something else?" he begged. "Anything without blood-things is fine. I'll eat it all, I promise I will, just as long as there's no blood-things."

"Eat what you're given and be grateful," Izumi snapped, and slapped him.

"Mother!" Setsuko sprang forward.

Izumi glared at her. Setsuko stopped in her tracks.

"Mother, please…"

Izumi ignored her. "You eat what's in front of you, or you eat nothing at all!" Kaname cringed, curling in on himself and shrinking away from the table. His grandmother saw this, and hit him again. "You hear me? You won't get anything else until you've finished everything on this plate!"

Later that day, the door to the bathroom cracked opened.

"Mommy, are you sad again?"

Kaname closed the door quietly after himself and padded over to take Setsuko's hand. "Is it because I was bad? Does it make you sad to have a bad child?"

Setsuko shook her head vigorously, "No," she choked out through her tears, and threw her arms around him. "You're not a bad child! I'm very happy to have you as my son."

It was true. Before Kaname, nobody had ever tried to comfort her when she hid in the bathroom to cry. Nobody had ever even bothered to notice that she did so. Even if they had, she knew they would have only scorned her weakness. Kaname was the one person in her life who would reach out to wipe away her tears – who would force himself through something he hated to try to cheer her up.

He was the light in her dark world. Her most precious thing. The one thing she could never let go of.

She tightened her arms around him, squeezing him against her. A small voice said from within her tight embrace. "Then is it because Granny got mad? Did her words make you hurt inside?"

Setsuko startled, pulling back to look in amazement as this child, who was not yet two-years-old, said, "Don't feel hurt, Mommy. It's because of me that Granny's mad – because I'm a bad child who can't eat well or behave myself well like she wants me to. But when she gets mad, she forgets it's me she's mad at and yells mean things at Mommy. I'm sorry I make her yell at you too, Mommy. Please don't feel bad. It's not your fault. Mommy didn't do anything wrong."

Setsuko stared at her son, stunned. Ever since he'd started to talk, Kaname had been leaps and bounds ahead of her friends' children. Not just his vocabulary, but his grammar and pronunciation were extraordinary for his age. She'd always been proud to have such a smart son. But this…

_This is not normal_.

The level of his speech aside, the things he was saying were not the thoughts of a twenty-month-old. Even if he'd possessed the vocabulary to make the sentences, he shouldn't have possessed the perceptiveness to have realized the inner _hows_ of his grandmother's anger or the exact _whys _of his mother's tears.

A shiver of fear went down her spine – though fear of what, she knew not. Her son was just a toddler, a baby. He was looking at her earnestly, trying to comfort her. All he wanted was for her to feel better, and he'd do anything to cheer her up.

Still, she felt her reservations dissolve as she once again put a hand on his shoulder.

"Kaname, can you help Mommy out? Help Mommy to feel happy?"

Kaname nodded at once, eyes shining.

"Then can you please eat the meat? For me?"

His expression faltered. "But…" he trembled, "but it… it makes me feel sick. It hurts my mouth, and my tummy."

Setsuko forced a comforting smile. "Sometimes our mouths and tummies don't know what's good for the rest of us. Trust Mommy: meat is very good for growing boys like you. You'll get used to it soon, and then it won't be so bad, right? Can you hold out until then? Can you do that for Mommy?"

Trembling like a leaf, eyes now shining with dread, Kaname nodded.

That night, he sat down at the table and, with a shaking hand, picked up his spoon and ate his whole dinner, meat and all.

Not half an hour later he was violently ill. He threw up everything he'd eaten and went to bed early with a high fever. His father and grandmother were stone-faced and ill-tempered all evening, and his mother dared not say a word.

When the shops opened the next day, Setsuko paid a visit to the pharmacy. She exited with a small white paper bag, which she hid inside a larger plastic bag from a nearby grocery story, then inside her women's hygiene drawer at home.

That day, a bit before supper time, she called her son into her room. She had a cup of water in one hand, and in the other a pill cut into small, choking-risk free pieces.

"Come here, sweetie, Mommy has a magic cure for your sick feeling at dinner."

She beckoned Kaname over, and he obediently took the chopped up pill, under her coaching managing to swallow it with the water. He coughed and handed her the emptied cup with a hoarse thank you, to which she smiled and sent him back out to go play until dinner time. Setsuko then bustled about throwing together the final preparations for dinner. She set the table and settled Suguru into his high chair before calling the rest of her family to come eat.

When Kaname came to the table, Setsuko noted his listless, glazed eyes a bit worriedly. The pill bottle had said not to give the drug to children under two, but Kaname was twenty months. That was practically two. She'd given him one less piece than the whole pill just in case. It would be fine, surely.

Kaname ate his pork chops slowly and with no enthusiasm, but no protest either. In fact he didn't say a single word all dinner, and Setsuko didn't think his slow, sluggish movements were entirely due to his dislike of the food.

Setsuko's conscience twinged, but she forced the feelings aside. Kaname got through his whole plate without incident – no crying, no gagging, no being screamed at or hit. Moreover, that night he went to bed at the regular time without having once thrown up. Setsuko could have cheered at her success.

"Kaname was very quiet today," her husband remarked when Setsuko joined him in the living room after putting the kids to bed.

Setsuko beamed, picking up her evening tea and savoring the feel of steam warming her face. "He was, wasn't he? You know, I think he's starting to come around to meat."

Izumi sniffed from where she was sitting. "Looked more like he was coming down with something, if you ask me," she grumbled.

Setsuko's conscience panged again, but she forced the guilt away. She had no choice, she reassured herself. Kaname wasn't eating – that was a medical emergency if she'd ever heard of one. She was only going to drug him until the subconscious association was broken and the psychosomatic vomiting stopped. Those pills couldn't possibly be worse for him than going hungry or throwing up every other day, could they?

Yet, after he started eating meat, a strange change came over Kaname.

While she'd fed him a purely vegetarian diet, Kaname had been a very vivacious child. He'd never walked anywhere if he could run. He'd laughed a lot and talked fast and excitedly. His smile had been bright as the sun.

But after he'd started eating meat, that all seemed to go away.

Kaname did not run, he did not laugh, he barely smiled. Contrary to her expectations, to everything the parenting manuals and common sense told her, he did a lot worse under a fully balanced diet than he had under a vegetarian one. He was nearly as listless as he'd been as a newborn.

Seeing this, Setsuko hastened to wean her son off the pills as soon as she could without him relapsing. After six nerve wracking months of trial and error, Kaname could eat meat without artificial assistance. Setsuko threw out the remaining pills.

And yet, she never again saw the happy, energetic little boy she'd so loved.

* * *

A visiting college friend gave Kaname and Suguru an animal picture encyclopedia as a present. Kaname was instantly enamored with it, begging Setsuko to read him a page every day at bedtime, flipping through the pictures admiringly every chance he got. Setsuko watched this with a fond smile.

Kaname was very good with animals, being warmly greeted by every dog they passed on the street, even the dogs their baffled owners swore never took to strangers. He had some strange childish ritual where he'd lean down (or up, depending on the size of the dog) to stare the dog in the eyes, small face set in adorable concentration. After a moment Kaname would relax, and the dog would happily greet him with a nuzzle or lick. They'd be best friends until the owner and Kaname's mother tugged their reluctant charges along on their respective ways.

It was the same at pet stores; Kaname would plaster himself to whatever cage was nearest, staring inside until the animal within would trot over to greet him. It didn't matter if it was a rabbit or python, he liked them all, and they all seemed to like him.

So it really was no surprise the animal encyclopedia had captivated him so. Kaname would spend hours staring wistfully at the pictures of tigers and hippos and rhinos and crocodiles, asking hopefully if they could get them as pets.

One morning, Setsuko took her son's book from his fingers and said with a laugh, "Enough looking at pictures! Let's go see the real things!"

She put Suguru in his pram and took Kaname by the hand, listening to him chatter on excitedly for what felt like the first time in forever as they made their way to the nearest train station, and from there to the local zoo.

To Setsuko's amusement, Kaname did the same staring thing with the zoo animals as he did with the pet store animals. She had to hold onto his hand to keep him from wandering under the safety rope linings. Otherwise, he'd looked set to shove his face right up against the zoo cages while he stared in at the animals until they padded over to greet him.

And pad over they did, to Setsuko's astonishment. Right to the very bars of their cages, stopping right in front of Kaname. Setsuko had never seen zoo animals so clearly and easily before. She didn't know what to think about it.

They had a small picnic lunch on a bench, and Setsuko settled Suguru down for his afternoon nap in his pram before setting off with Kaname to see the rest of the creatures.

She and Kaname spent a happy afternoon admiring all the different animals that came right up to them. As they neared the exit, Suguru woke from his nap and started fussing, so Setsuko picked him up and jiggled him for a while.

She got tired doing this, so once Suguru settled she turned to Kaname and said, "Well, I think we've seen all there is to see. Shall we head on home now?"

Actually they'd miss the bear exhibit if they left now, but it's not like Kaname would know that.

"But Mommy, I feel like there's more animals that way," Kaname said, pointing down the branching off path the zoo map in her bag had indicated led to the bear exhibit. "Really powerful animals. Could we go see them first, please?"

Bewildered, unable to think of how he'd known this, Setsuko had dumbly agreed before she knew what she was saying. Kaname cheered and skipping along holding her hand. Setsuko sighed; they'd just have to go see the bears before heading home.

Setsuko tried to hurry Kaname along, not giving him time to stop and stare as he'd like. However, they were again held up by Suguru, who did not at all appreciate having his daily nap schedule thrown off like this.

Letting go of Kaname's hand to sooth the fussing baby, Setsuko patted and bounced her second-born, humming and rubbing circles on his back. At long last he quieted, and she sagged in relief, freeing a hand to hold out to her first-born again.

However, there was no small hand there to meet hers.

Setsuko looked around, and then around again, more frantically this time. Where had Kaname gone? She couldn't see him anywhere! Had he wandered ahead? Had he gone back? What should she do?! Call the park staff? Call the police?

_Calm down_, she told her racing heart, _he can't have gone far. No need to panic just yet._

"Kaname?" she called, failing to hide the alarm from her voice. No response. "Kaname!"

"Mommy!"

Setsuko's blood froze. She turned around to face the polar bear enclosure.

And screamed.

There, on a polar bear's back, hugging it around the neck, was her two-year-old son.

Kaname sat up on the polar bear and waved. "Look! I made a new friend!"

"Ka…" she tried to scream, but all that came out was a gasp. Air flew into and out of her lungs too fast to allow speech.

She had to get him out. She had to get help. She had to – she had to –

The ground rushed up to meet her.

All went black before it did.

"-a'am. Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Setsuko blinked open her eyes, peering blurrily up into an old man's face.

The old man sighed. "Thank goodness you're ok."

Setsuko picked herself up from the ground and then startled, her empty arms tightening reflexively as though to secure a baby.

"Suguru!"

She remembered why she'd fainted.

"_Kaname!"_ she shrieked, spinning around to the polar bear enclosure in dread.

"Mommy?" asked a small voice from behind her.

She turned to see her eldest perfectly unscathed, standing right beside her. Kaname was looking up at her worriedly, Suguru held in arms that were barely big enough for it.

Setsuko fell to her knees and frantically checked him over, but couldn't find so much as a scratch. "You're ok?" she demanded. "You're not hurt?"

Kaname quirked his head. "Hurt?" he asked in puzzlement. "Why would I be? You're the one who suddenly fell over, Mommy."

The old man, who now that she was looking properly Setsuko saw was wearing a blue zookeeper's uniform, ruffled Kaname's hair with a chuckle. "This is a right smart boy you've got, ma'am," he said. "Came running up to me and explained the whole thing, in proper sentences and all! Nearly made _me_ faint, a kid this little talking as good as that!"

Unable to reply, Setsuko could only nod dumbly, more confused than she'd ever been in her life.

How had Kaname gotten away from the polar bear unscathed? How could he have gotten back out of the cage – or gotten _in_it, in the first place? Instead of rope, there was a thick glass wall rising to nearly a full-grown man's height separating the enclosure from the visitors, and a two-meter wide moat separating it further. High wire fencing around the inner side of the moat further blocked it off. There was no way a two-year-old should have been able to get past these things.

_Did I just imagine it?_

She put a hand to her head. There was a definite bump. She must have hit her head when she fell.

That was it. It must be. She'd fallen and hit her head, and dreamed the whole thing up. Kaname had never been in the polar bear enclosure in the first place. Of course he hadn't. It made no sense. Forget getting in, hugging a polar bear around the neck like that – there was no way that had actually happened.

Sagging in relief as the world returned to being a sensible place, Setsuko took Suguru from where Kaname was only just managing to hold him. She settled her baby in her arms before turning to bow to the old zookeeper.

"Thank you for your assistance."

The zookeeper waved this off. "I didn't do much, just put you on your back and called an ambulance for you. It should get here soon."

"Oh, you don't have to –"

"Pardon me, ma'am, but it looks like you hit your head when you fell. You should get that checked out, at least."

Setsuko reluctantly agreed, and followed the zookeeper to wait in the staff office for the ambulance to come pick her up. Beside her, Kaname was oddly still, head hung and gazing down at the floor. He looked near tears.

Setsuko turned to him, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. "I'm proud of you, getting help for Mommy like that."

Yet Kaname only hung his head lower.

"… was it because of me?" he asked, voice almost too low to be heard.

"Because of you?"

"Did you fall down because of me? Did I scare you?"

Setsuko froze … that almost sounded like …

No. It was impossible.

She forced a smile. "Of course not! The heat's just getting to Mommy today. Mommy just got a bit too hot, and fell down on her own."

Kaname finally looked up to meet her eyes hesitantly. "Really?"

Setsuko nodded with an especially bright smile. "Really! We'll get a doctor to look Mommy over just in case, but Mommy will be just fine, sweetie. There's nothing to feel bad about!"

Kaname slowly nodded, at last leaning in to her hug. Setsuko lightly squeezed his shoulder, repeating her reassurances that it wasn't his fault and everything would be fine.

However, try as she might, she could not get his unsettling words out of her head.

And these would be far from the last strange things Kaname said.

* * *

It first occurred after Kaname's grandmother had dislocated her hip. Unable to move, she had been flipping through channels in boredom. She paused for a minute on a screen with little words at the bottom, which surprised Kaname because his grandmother usually insisted her hearing was fine and she didn't need subtitles on, thank you very much.

Mildly intrigued, Kaname sat down to see what it was about.

His mother was passing by with a load of laundry and glanced at him in surprise before walking away, looking amused for some reason. Near the end of the program she came back with a pile of neatly folded and ironed clothes, her eyes widening in amazement at the sight of him still sitting quietly on the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen.

"If you feel bored, sweetie, you don't have to keep watching."

Kaname reluctantly looked away from the screen. It was at a very critical moment of the show, when the beleaguered protagonist was sprinting down the airstrip to stop his girlfriend's plane from leaving – he had to explain to her that he _did_ write to her, every day, only her treacherous best friend had – out of pure spite – burned the letters to grieve her by driving them apart. The man had to reach his beloved, before it was too late and she was gone from his life forever.

"It's not boring."

"But you can't read yet. It must be boring, since you don't know what's going on."

Kaname felt confusion and the beginnings of guilt, even though he didn't understand what he was doing wrong or why his mother disliked it.

"I can hear what they're saying, so I don't need to read."

"But it's in Korean, Kaname. You don't understand anything they're saying, right?"

His mother's bewildered eyes implored him, asking for affirmation.

He felt something inside of him curl up, instinctually knowing this was going to cause trouble, yet unable to tell his mother a lie. "No, Mommy, I understand it."

This made his grandmother turn to him with a dark scowl. "Young man, what have I told you about lying!"

"But…"

He didn't know what 'Korean' meant, or why he shouldn't be able to understand it, but he really did understand.

As his grandmother's hand rose, his mother hurriedly put her own hand on Kaname's head, pushing it down in a contrite bow. "I'm sorry. You're sorry too, right, Kaname?"

He still didn't understand what he had done wrong, but he felt awful nonetheless for being a bad child who'd again upset his mother and grandmother.

He repeated in a small voice, "I'm sorry, Granny."

His grandmother huffed and went back to the television screen, annoyed that she had missed the last few lines. His mother took the opportunity to drag him off, and Kaname never did find out if the two soulmates were reunited.

* * *

That January, Kaname's family won tickets to Tokyo Disneyland through a supermarket raffle. His grandmother grumbled it was a waste, that Kaname and Suguru were too young to appreciate such a thing, but since the tickets were free his father and mother took them nonetheless.

They were waiting in line to get lunch when Kaname overheard an odd-looking couple, with pretty-colored hair like one of the movie princesses and her prince, talking very agitatedly. Listening a bit more, he realized that they were lost, and couldn't even seem to read the map they were holding to get themselves unlost. Tugging on his mother's sleeve, Kaname pointed to the pitiful people.

"Mommy, they're lost," he explained. "They're looking for the stage for the Mickey March Show. They've only got ten minutes before the next one starts. Shouldn't we go help them?"

His mother looked up from where she'd been occupied with an overtired Suguru. She looked first at the couple, then at him, and frowned in puzzlement. She shook her head as if to clear it.

"That's too bad, but there's nothing we can do."

"But we went there earlier. I still remember the way – I could give them directions."

His mother shook her head, an amused smile tugging at her face. "Even if you could tell them how to get there, they wouldn't understand," she said, and went back to trying to quiet the fussing one-year-old.

Kaname bit his lip, glancing at the frazzled people, then back at his frazzled mother. She looked so busy, he didn't want to keep bothering her. But those people needed help…

_I can do it…_

Buoyed by this thought, he crossed the square to come right up to the lost couple.

"Excuse me," he said.

The couple turned to him, surprise clear on their faces.

"If you want to go to the Mickey March Show, first go that way," Kaname pointed, "and follow the path until you come to Splash Mountain, then turn right. Walk a bit more and it's the big red building on your left. The next show's at one o'clock, though, so you need to hurry."

The couple was now looking at him in absolute astonishment. They seemed unable to process a word he'd said. Kaname remembered his mother's doubts about their ability to follow directions and their trouble reading the map still in the man's hands.

He lifted his head to peer up at them in worry, "Did you get the directions ok? I could say them again, if you like."

The man shook his head, a bemused smile coming to his face as he folded his useless map. "No, you've been very helpful, thank you. I was just a bit surprised. Little boy, where did you learn Norwegian?"

Kaname tilted his head. "Nor-we-gian?" he repeated questioningly.

The woman laughed. "He's probably a mixed kid," she said to her husband. "One of his parents speaks it, no doubt."

She turned to Kaname with a smile, leaning down to meet his eyes. He saw that hers were a very pretty blue, just like Cinderella's. "Lucky we ran into you," said the princess-like woman. "Thank you for your help."

Kaname smiled back and started to say, _it's no trouble_, when a loud shout cut him off.

"_KANAME!_"

Kaname turned to see his father striding towards him with a dark face.

"Daddy…"

The woman, who'd been moving protectively towards Kaname, stopped at this word. She straightened and held out a hand to his father. "Hello," she said with an attempt at a smile. "Your son was just helping us – got a bit lost, you see – "

His father glared at the offered hand and seized Kaname by the shoulder, spinning him around so fast he nearly tripped. The large hand held him upright and yanked on his shoulder, dragging Kaname off without a word.

Behind him, Kaname could hear the couple talking in low voices.

"How rude!"

"I don't think he understood you. Must only be the mother who speaks it."

"That doesn't make him any less rude. And did you see the way he grabbed his son? That poor child! What a hateful man!"

Kaname looked up anxiously at his father. But his father seemed deaf to the bad things they were saying about him. He met Kaname's eyes with a glare.

"Don't wander off." His father's hand tightened painfully against his shoulder. "What were you thinking, going up to foreigners!"

"I'm sorry – they were lost, so I –"

"Don't give me any excuses. Even if they _had_ been lost, what could _you_ have done! Walking up to strangers, to _foreigners_ like that -" His father turned around and struck him across the back of his head. "Do you possess no brains?" he raged. "Anything could have happened. You've caused your poor mother no end of grief! Your grandmother will hear of this when we get home!"

Clutching his head, Kaname shivered. He followed his father back in silence.

* * *

It wasn't until a few months into preschool that Kaname began to figure out what was going on.

The first-years spent the first term just playing together, getting to know each other and learning the class rules. Kaname found this very enjoyable, though he had a bit of difficulty talking to the other three-year-olds. There were a lot of times when they'd just stare at him blankly, as if they didn't understand what he said. The teacher too gave him odd looks if he talked for too long, so Kaname soon came to the conclusion it was better if he didn't speak at preschool when he didn't have to. Once he'd realized this, the strange looks vanished and he was able to go through the daily activities quietly and happily.

Around the time when most of his classmates had stopped crying for their mothers every morning, they began to do more educational activities in class. Tracing out hiragana in bright colors, learning their basic shapes and colors. As they settled into this routine, one day their teacher sat them down and told them a special guest was coming today.

"He's coming from very, very far away," his teacher explained with a bright smile. "Far across the ocean, from another country called 'America'. Have any of you heard of it before?" A smattering of hands were raised. The teacher nodded. "Very good! Now, because he's from so very far away, his words are _very _different from ours. These different words are called 'English'. To talk to people in other countries, you need to use 'English' words. We'll be learning some today, so you can talk to many people from all over the world! Now, will everyone give our guest a nice warm welcome?"

Kaname chorused_ yes_ along with his classmates, and sat quietly in interest as they waited for this new person from far away to arrive. At length the door opened and a very tall, very dark-skinned man with very curly hair walked in.

"Hello, everyone!" he greeted brightly with a wide smile.

Kaname started to answer _Hello_ back but noticed that no one else was speaking, and so quickly fell silent. He sat there, confused, wondering why nobody had responded to the man's greeting. Hadn't their teacher told them to give him a nice warm welcome? Why were they ignoring him?

Their teacher stood at the front with a grin. "Okay, everyone, did you hear? He was just saying hello to us in English. The English word for hello is hello. Now, let's try it! Let's say hello to the English teacher in English. All together now… ready, go –"

"Hello," they all chorused together, Kaname joining in a bit confusedly. His preschool teacher looked at him with a frown, and the English teacher's eyes also flitted to him before going back to the rest of the class.

Kaname's tummy began to clench with unease. He knew at that look. What was it? What had he done bad this time?

Whatever it was, it mustn't have been too bad, he thought in relief, because the teacher just went on with the lesson. A more average-looking woman stood beside the English teacher, though Kaname was not sure why. She seemed to just repeat everything he said. At length the woman pulled out large flashcards and started flipping through them, again just repeating the English teacher as he named the pictures shown. Then she asked them to repeat after the teacher, and they began to chant after him, naming the things on the cards.

It was all much easier than Kaname had expected. He wasn't quite sure what his preschool teacher had been talking about when she said English words were very different. There was no difference at all.

They said a cheerful goodbye to the smiling dark-skinned man. As the door shut behind him, their teacher turned to them with a wide smile. "Good job, everyone! You all did very well and spoke English very nicely. Next, we're going to continue our finger-painting. Everybody go change into your smocks."

Kaname rose to get his smock from his cubby, but his preschool teacher beckoned to him.

"Kaname-kun, come here for a minute. I want a word with you."

Heart sinking, Kaname made his way over. His teacher was very nice to him, even though he was a bad kid who caused everyone trouble. His preschool teacher was no exception. That's why he recognized the bright smile on her face was not her happy smile.

When he drew up, she knelt on the floor so they were eye to eye. "Kaname-kun, did you like the English lesson?" she asked brightly.

Nervously, Kaname nodded.

"English is really fun, isn't it?" when he nodded again, she said with an even brighter smile, "So how about next time, you try to join in with the others?"

Kaname startled. "I was joining in," he protested.

"So you were. But you're meant to be repeating the _English_ _teacher_, not the Japanese assistant. You should be speaking _English_, not Japanese. Next time, if you're not sure what to do, just follow along with the others, alright?"

Kaname hesitantly nodded. "Alright," he agreed meekly. He didn't understand what she meant.

The next time the English teacher came, Kaname listened very closely to the man's words. But no matter how Kaname considered them, there was no difference between the English teacher's words and those of the woman assisting him. Kaname started to repeat back cautiously. Again, his preschool teacher frowned at him. Kaname hurriedly lowered his voice to an inaudible mumble. He closed his eyes, listening with all his might.

Finally, he heard it.

"Cat," the English teacher was saying, but underneath it, as if a radio were playing on a very low volume, Kaname heard another word. A different word, a completely unfamiliar, strange-sounding word he didn't know.

Kaname's eyes snapped open again. Was that it? Was that almost inaudible undertone 'English'?

For the rest of the lesson, Kaname strained his ears to catch the 'English' undertone. He soon grew tired from the sheer effort this required, and when the English teacher left Kaname's whole body slumped, exhausted. He had no energy left for his other classes. He trudged through the entire rest of the day.

That night, his mother asked him over dinner, "So, Kaname, how's English class? Is it fun?"

Kaname hesitated. Rather than fun, it was just exhausting. He had to jump up and dance around and sing while simultaneously trying to catch and repeat the muted English undertones. He hated that he couldn't make his mother happy by telling her it was 'fun'.

He really didn't want to sadden her with another failure to be a good kid, so instead Kaname gave his mother his best reassuring smile and said, "I'm getting used to it. I'm sure it'll become fun soon, when I get better at catching the undertones."

"Undertones?"

"The English undertones. They're a bit hard to hear under the Japanese, but I'll probably get used to it very soon. I'm sure English class will feel fun, then."

"What are you talking about?" his father asked with a frown.

Kaname's smile faltered. "Well, when the English teacher speaks his Japanese is so loud, and his English so quiet, it's hard to hear. I didn't even notice the English at first. I thought he was just speaking Japanese. The first class, I was really confused why they were saying everything twice –"

His grandmother slammed a hand on the table. "Young man, how many times – _how many times _do I have to tell you not to tell lies!"

"Mother, it's just a child's fantasy –"

"It's self-important lying, that's what it is!"

As his mother and grandmother began to argue in earnest, Kaname curled into a ball. His father put down his chopsticks with a scowl. "Can't you behave yourself a bit better so your grandmother doesn't have to get angry?" he asked waspishly.

Kaname curled up even more. "I'm sorry…"

Beside him, his baby brother's eyes filled with tears as the voices grew louder. Suguru began to wail, and his mother and grandmother had to yell to be heard over him. Kaname reached out to his little brother to comfort him, but his grandmother smacked his hand away.

"Haven't you done enough?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry – here, Kaname, let me take him," his mother said, flustered, picking up her second child and dodging his flailing arms. "Shhhh, Su-chan, shhhh, it's all right, Mommy's here…"

Kaname sunk back into his seat and stared at his half-finished plate, appetite gone.

* * *

Just before winter break, Kaname was sent to the nurse's office.

In retrospect, he was amazed it hadn't happened before, with how many other children were around and how oblivious they seemed to their own safety. But it wasn't until an outdoor gym class a week before classes let out that a girl in his class tripped, and skinned her knee on the pavement.

Kaname froze, staring at the now crying girl. A thick, coppery, repugnant smell filled the air, pushing him back like a force field. A terrible smell, of suffering and pain.

Red oozed down the girl's knee.

Kaname fainted.

He woke up in the nurse's office, just a little curtained-off corner in the school office, with a damp cloth across his forehead. The vice-principal looked up from where she was sitting beside him, flipping through a stack of papers.

"Ah, you're awake," she smiled, putting down her papers. "How are you feeling?"

Kaname tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. Seeing this, the vice-principal went to get him a cup of water from the office pitcher. As he drank in slow, steady sips, the vice-principal lifted the cloth and put her hand to his forehead.

An intense jolt shot through him, like he'd been shocked in the head. Kaname jerked back, body spasming, and the paper cup fell from his loosened fingers to the floor. It rolled under the curtain into the main office.

Frowning, the vice-principal retrieved it. Kaname backed up to the edge of the bed, arms raised protectively as though to intervene if the vice-principal attempted to touch his forehead again.

"You've still got a bit of a fever," she murmured, throwing out the paper cup and mopping up the spilled water with her handkerchief. She then straightened and approached Kaname, who tensed. But she only prodded the back of his head.

"You don't seem to have a concussion or any bruises. Do you hurt anywhere?"

Kaname shook his head.

"Before you fainted, did you feel too hot or too cold?" Kaname shook his head again. "Were you dizzy at all?" Again, he shook his head. "Have you been near anyone sick recently?"

"No, I – " Kaname hunched inwards, "It's… it's not like that. I … I … " The vice-principal looked at him expectantly. Kaname hugged his arms around his chest. "I – I'm scared of blood."

He braced his body against the yelling sure to come, but the vice-principal just nodded thoughtfully.

"I see," she smiled. "That's good. We all thought you were very sick." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Well then, lucky you, getting to go home early for nothing!"

"Go home early?" Kaname tilted his head in puzzlement.

The vice-principal nodded with a smile. "We called your family to tell them you collapsed."

Kaname froze. As though from the other end of a long tunnel, he heard the vice-principal saying,

"Your mother should be here soon. She'll be very glad to hear you're alright after all. Still, I think it's better if you go home for a bit, settle your nerves, be with your family…"

The vice-principal was still speaking, but Kaname couldn't hear her. She was drowned out by the pounding of his heart, the stinging phantom of his grandmother's hand, her biting scorn for boys who didn't even deserve to be called boys, completely losing their heads at just a tiny little bit of blood – _her _son had never been so pathetic, how had her grandson turned out so weak, would he never stop bringing shame upon their house...

An eternity and mere instant later, his mother was at the school. The vice-principal explained to her what had happened, and she nodded and thanked her for looking after her son. She took Kaname by the hand, leading him to the car.

Looking down at the trembling Kaname, his mother said, "Sweetie, do you want to go out for a bit before we head home?"

As Kaname looked up at her, she gave a bitter smile, "I was thinking we don't need to tell your grandmother exactly why you collapsed today. I'll just say I took you to the doctor's after picking you up and you're doing better now."

Kaname hugged his mother, burying his face against her. "Thank you."

Although his mother had said she was taking him to the doctor's, for some reason she instead took him to the ice cream store. When he pointed out her mistake, she laughed and said there were different kinds of doctors and today, this was one of them. Kaname said he didn't understand, and she just laughed again and bought him ice cream – or, as she corrected him, medicine.

They ate his mother's strange medicine, which really did look and taste just like ice cream, in a private booth. After a bit his mother said,

"You know, blood can't hurt you, sweetie."

"But it does. It hurts when it touches me. Or when I eat it."

His mother frowned. "When you eat it?"

"When I eat meat. I feel so sick inside, I want to just curl up and die."

His mother sighed. "Sometimes our heads do funny things to the rest of our bodies. But you can't let it get the best of you. In life, you'll come across accidents far worse than the one today. You need to eat meat to grow up good and strong." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone has something they're afraid of, but we can't let those fears rule us. We need to be brave, and strive to overcome those fears. Do you think you can be brave?"

Kaname looked down. "I – "

The sight of blood was so terrifying, the smell of it so repelling. Meat tasted like nothing but blood and death. It burned his mouth and throat. It sat like mashed up fire in his belly, always threatening to launch itself back up. He really didn't see how he could possibly overcome these things.

Still, he nodded to his mother. "I'll try," he promised.

She smiled, and bought him more medicine.

* * *

After school started back up after the New Year's holidays, Kaname's preschool teacher called his parents and guardians in for a special conference.

"What's he done now?" his grandmother asked when they were seated across from the teacher at her big desk.

"Done?" the teacher blinked, and then laughed. "Oh, nothing. Nothing of the sort. That's not why I called you here. It's not a behavioral issue, exactly…"

"What do you mean by 'exactly'?" his father frowned. "Is it or is not his behavior that's the problem?"

The teacher looked a bit unsettled and laughed again, more strained this time. "There's no problem, per say, only… I'm a little worried about Kaname-kun's social development."

His grandmother opened his mouth, and the teacher went on hurriedly, "Kaname-kun is a very kind and friendly boy, and he seems to get along nicely with all his classmates, even the difficult kids! He's also well-behaved and obedient, and listens to all the teachers as well. It's just … he's a little shy."

"Shy," his grandmother repeated flatly. "Nobody calls the parents in because a kid's _shy_. What's the real problem here?"

His teacher frowned, but replied, "He rarely speaks unless spoken to. He seems afraid to talk at all. I'm worried there might be something in the classroom environment that's making him uncomfortable, and wanted to ask what your strategies are for setting him at ease."

"_Strategies for setting him at ease_," his grandmother repeated with a scoff. "Stuff and nonsense! Is that the namby-pamby tripe they're teaching you at these fancy colleges these days?"

"Ma'am, I assure you that a child of Kaname-kun's age needs to feel –"

"And I assure _you_, all this spoiling and making special exceptions is what ruins a child! All this boy needs is a _firm_ hand. No reason he's staying mum but out of sheer stubbornness. Just give him a good swat on the head and he'll be yakking away with all the other little ones if that's what you want."

"Ma'am," his teacher took a deep breath. "Our school does not condone corporal punishment of _any_ kind."

"Well there's your problem then! No wonder you can't get him to behave."

"It's not his behavior that's the issue!"

His teacher and grandmother argued back and forth, until his grandmother stood up and took a tight lipped leave. She yelled at Kaname the whole drive home, and then at his mother when she tried to come to his defense. It was the most awful visit Kaname had ever had, the first truly awful thing to happen to him at school.

And it was, unfortunately, not the last.

* * *

That spring, when Kaname moved up to the second-year class in preschool, not just his teacher and classmates changed, but the very style of class had changed as well. Where in first year they'd done everything altogether as a group, this year they were doing everything as pairs. They lined up in pairs, they sat at tables in pairs, they walked down the hall in pairs. They even did some class activities in pairs.

This was fine enough, at the beginning, but soon Kaname found himself stuck in a bit of a predicament. While his classmates quickly found one or two kids who always wanted to pair with them, he couldn't seem to find anyone like that. Whenever the teacher said, "Now everyone, let's make pairs," he was always the one left at the end wandering the classroom trying to see who else was without a partner that day. If someone was sick, he had to pair with the teacher or make a group of three.

Why this was, Kaname couldn't say. Not in the beginning, at least. But soon he began to notice a pattern to the conversations he had with the various kids he paired with.

"This is my Anpanman shirt," a classmate would say. "Granny bought it for me!"

"It's very nice," he'd reply. "Your grandmother is so kind."

"I love Anpanman!" they'd say. "Anpanman's the best!"

"The best what?" he'd ask in confusion.

"The best!"

"I… see…" he'd mumble, no nearer to understanding than he'd been before.

The classmate would frown at him. "Don't you like Anpanman?" they'd demand.

"I'm not sure. I watch it with my little brother sometimes, because he really likes Anpanman, but -"

"You don't like Anpanman!" the classmate would screech wide-eyed, pointing a finger at him.

"No, I don't dislike it exactly -"

"Anpanman is THE BEST!" his classmate would yell, glaring at him. "You're _weird_!"

And that was, in short, most of his conversations with his classmates.

Not that it was always Anpanman that was the sticky point, but whatever the other kids were talking about, he couldn't quite understand them, and they couldn't seem to quite understand him either. It hadn't been so noticeable in a large group, when he'd only spoken occasionally, but it was impossible to keep quiet when he was one of only two people there.

Sometimes he listened in to the other pairs' conversations, to try to study how his classmates talked. But doing so often felt like he imagined listening to the English teacher did for those who couldn't seem to hear the Japanese overlaying it. It seemed like all the other kids were operating on the same set of logic, but it was a set of logic that someone had forgotten to program into him. He studied it surreptitiously whenever he could.

The other kids spoke in short sentences, with a simple phrasing and very basic words. That was his first mistake; the very structure of his speech had been wrong. His next, bigger mistake, was that there seemed to be an unspoken list of things that all kids liked, things that only boys liked, and things that only girls liked. How these things had been decided Kaname couldn't say, but to seem not appropriately enthused by anything on the list was the quickest way to derail the conversation and turn away a potential friend. He noted who liked what in his head, and all through second-year and into third-year he kept up an actual list at home. By showing polite interest when a list item entered a conversation, he could avoid problems like the Anpanman one before.

Yet, there were times when the list proved insufficient.

* * *

All the third-year preschoolers were sitting at the picnic area in a local flower garden, passing out the steaming-hot lunchboxes their teachers had pulled out for them from the school bus, which had just returned from its pick-up run.

Kaname was sitting with the other Panda Class students, who were all trying to guess what they were getting for lunch. Kaname couldn't muster up their enthusiasm; even closed, the bentos smelled strongly of blood and death.

At last the teacher bid them open their bentos and begin. As one by one the boxes opened, a cheer went up. Kaname alone sighed.

"Oyakodon!" his classmates exclaimed. They broke apart their disposable chopsticks to dig in to the chicken and egg on rice.

Kaname also broke apart his chopsticks to begin rescuing what rice he could from the slaughtered chicken bleeding into it. When his classmates were about halfway through their meals, he set down his chopsticks and turned to a boy who often complained he was still hungry after lunchtime.

"Do you want this?" Kaname asked, holding out the untouched dead things in his lunchbox.

The constantly hungry boy looked surprised by the offer, but quickly accepted, emptying Kaname's leftovers onto his own bento and digging in with renewed gusto. Seeing this, several other classmates began to complain.

"Hey, no fair…"

"How come just Kenta gets more!"

"Where's _mine_?"

"Sorry," Kaname bowed his head. "I don't have any more left. I'll give something to you next time there's meat."

A girl with two high pigtails tilted her head. "Kaname-kun, don't you like meat?"

Kaname shook his head. "No."

Everyone stared at him open-mouthed. And then the questions began.

"What about hamburgers?"

"Not even gyuudon?"

"Tonkatsu, you have to like tonkatsu!"

"Yakitori? But you like yakitori, right?"

The voices clamored over each other, trying to elicit his agreement that their favorite meats alone he enjoyed.

Kaname shrank under the onslaught. He got that leaden feeling in his stomach, the one that he always got when he did or said something other people didn't like. He knew now that meat was definitely one of the things that should have been on his list.

In reply to their onslaught of questions, he could only mutely shake his head.

"Well then, what meat _do_ you like?" an exasperated voice demanded.

Kaname shook his head, cringing. "None. I don't like any meat."

"Not any _at all?!_"

Kaname nodded miserably, praying they'd just let it go with this.

But, of course, it couldn't be that easy.

"_Why?_"

Kaname sighed. Though no one had ever agreed with him on this, he again explained, "It tastes like blood and death."

"What?! No, it doesn't!"

"Yeah, meat is yummy!"

"_Sooooo_ yummy!"

"How can you not like it?!"

"I just don't," Kaname defended. "Besides, even if I did like it, I couldn't eat it because it makes me too sad."

"What?"

"Sad? _How?_"

"Well, I get sad when I think about the animals who died to create it."

More wide, confused eyes stared at him. "What are you talking about?" one boy demanded. "What animals who died?"

Kaname stared back at him in equal confusion. "… the animals the meat came from," he said, a bit dumbfounded. When still no one seemed to understand him, Kaname gestured to his empty bento box. "Like oyakodon – the chicken was once a living chicken mother, and the egg her unborn child. That's why it's called oya-ko-don – oya for the chicken mother, ko for the unborn chick. When I think of the mother and child who were killed, I feel so sad my throat closes up and I couldn't eat them even if I _did_ like their taste."

Throughout his explanation his classmates had been turning various shades of white or green. At the end, a few started crying. Seeing this, the teachers hurried over, soothing the crying children and asking what had happened. When they managed to piece together the teary explanations, they turned to Kaname with disturbed eyes.

* * *

The next day, Kaname's parents were called into the preschool.

Luckily, his grandmother was off visiting her relatives in Kyoto, so it was just his father and mother attending this time. Still, the meeting was anything but pleasant. His father had a tighter lid on his temper than his grandmother, but the thin line of his lips didn't promise anything good for when they got home.

Sure enough, Kaname was punished severely.

Long after his father had stormed off, leaving Kaname locked out in the yard to reflect on what he'd done, his mother came to him. At first she said nothing, just kneeled down beside him.

Kaname was crouching on the stone path, arms around his drawn up knees. Glancing up at his mother, he saw her eyes were slightly red. She'd been crying again. He looked down, arms tightening around his knees. She put an arm around his shoulder. This made him feel worse.

"You know, people will like you better if you like the same foods they do," his mother said, hugging him carefully, mindful of where his father's blows had struck. "Why don't you just keep on practicing eating meat, even when you don't have to? You'll learn to like it."

Kaname hunched inwards. His mother had been saying this for as long as he could remember. But Kaname had yet to manage it.

"I'm sorry," he said, burying his face in his drawn up knees.

Why couldn't he like meat? He'd been eating it so long he should by now, shouldn't he? Why couldn't he get used to it just a little? Just enough to not feel sick from it, even if he couldn't bring himself to outright like it? Surely he should be able to do that by now, at least?

"I'm sorry, Mommy."

He knew the best way to make his mother happy was to take her advice and ask her to start including meat in everything, even the lunch boxes she sent to preschool with him that she'd always been careful to keep devoid of any meat.

But he just couldn't do it.

Lunch was the one meal he had where he was guaranteed to not feel sick afterwards. Even though he knew offering to give this up would make his mother happy, when he thought of what it would mean, when he thought of feeling sick all the time with no respite, he wanted to just sink into the ground and disappear.

He really wished he could do just that. Then nobody would have to be troubled by him again. Then his mother wouldn't have to cry because of him again. If he couldn't be the kind of child she wanted, then why was he here at all? Why did his mother have to cry because of a bad child like him?

_It'd be so much better if I'd never been born._

Tears burned his eyes, and he buried his face further in his knees.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and kept still and silent so his mother wouldn't be further upset by seeing him cry.

* * *

"I don't know what to do with him," his elementary school teacher said. "He doesn't get along with any of his classmates, so I don't know what would be the best thing for me to do."

She looked at him in concern. "For a child his age not to have any friends at school is a pretty serious problem."

Back at home, his grandmother bore down on him. Her wrinkled lips were pursed in dissatisfaction as she demanded, "Why doesn't anyone want to be your friend?"

"Mother, don't be like this. It's the other kids who are purposefully excluding him."

"Well, that's just because there's a problem with his personality. Why can't he just get along with his classmates?"

"Because he's a scaredy-cat! That's why no one plays with him!"

"Don't interrupt! You only know how to bully people. It's all because your mother didn't teach you two right that both of you have let us down. Is our family not going to have any children who make anything of themselves?"

"Mother..."

After all his grandmother's nagging, in the end she would always come to the conclusion that it was his mother's fault. And then his mother would hide in the bathroom and cry.

"Why are you this way?" His father looked at him and sighed.

But Kaname didn't know how to respond to that.

"Isn't it possible for you to behave yourself so that your grandmother doesn't have to get angry?"

"I'm sorry."

He could only say this.

"All because of you I get lectured too! Every time you get Granny mad, she lectures me too!"

"I'm sorry."

He was always apologizing.

Regardless of how hard he tried, the situation never took a turn for the better. He didn't understand why it was like this. He could only think that his presence itself made his family unhappy. He often felt that, were he not to exist, his family would be able to live together happily.

That everybody would be much happier, if only he'd never been born at all.

* * *

_They've changed the trains again,_ Izumi thought sourly.

In her youth she could navigate Kyoto Station like the back of her hand, knowing what trains went where and how to get to them without a second thought. But it seemed like now every time she came back to visit her relatives, everything had been thrown slightly off. Her hometown had slowly become a strange place to her, changing year by year into a near unrecognizable city.

"And just what was wrong with the way things were?" she muttered with long-held bitterness, fishing through her purse for her wallet as she struggled to read the signboard.

A tin-like jingle came from her purse, and Izumi glanced down in irritation to see what was making it. Her eyes fell on the blatantly hand-made charm affixed with a 100-yen store bell that the elder of her grandsons had handed her before she headed off for her cousin's funeral. Annoyed, she ripped the charm off and dropped it into the nearest trash can.

_Why he didn't just buy a proper one at the shrine, I don't know,_ she grumbled to herself. _At the very least he could have left off the wretched noise-maker if he was going to be cheap about it._

Finding her train pass, she purchased a Shinkansen ticket to Tokyo. She was just through the ticket barrier when she heard a shout from behind her, breaking through the racket of Kyoto Station on a weekend.

"Hey, Grams! Wait up! Hey!"

Not until a small hand tapped her on the shoulder did Izumi realize it was she who was being addressed with such disrespect. Pursing her lips, she turned to see a child whose appearance made the line of her lips purse even tighter.

The boy looked to be a few years older than her eldest grandson, and twice as out of control. The bright colors he wore were garish enough on their own – obviously picked out against an adult's sensible input – but from the baseball cap he had on backwards, to the heavy gold chain around his neck, to the long unkempt hair falling to his mid-back, he looked like nothing so much as a wild city youth that'd no doubt fall in with some a gang or another in a few more years.

Scowling, Izumi, asked in a cold voice, "Didn't your mother teach you not to bother other people?"

Of course, decent parents were hard to come across these days, Izumi thought, mood souring further at the reminder of the useless thing her son had married.

The boy didn't even apologize, just grinned and held up a very familiar looking charm. "This yours?"

Izumi eyed the thing she'd thrown away, and then the rebellious-looking youth holding it. "I suppose your mother also didn't teach you not to go through the trash?"

The boy, of all things, rolled his eyes. "Look, Grams," he began, steamrolling right over Izumi's objection at being called _'Grams'_ a second time, "I haven't seen hide nor hair of my Ma since I was three, so you might as well drop all this 'your mother' stuff, don'cha think?"

"That would explain much," Izumi muttered half to herself. She frowned.

The child had an odd accent. There was a familiar base of Kansai-ben like she'd heard all her youth, but even that was odd, a bit off from how the people she knew spoke. And over this base were more western-Japan influenced inflections, and over them a completely strange element that Izumi couldn't put her finger on at all.

It annoyed her. People should just pick one proper way to speak, and stick with it. She'd moved to the Kanto region when she'd gotten married, and she'd never lost her native Kansai-ben. If this boy was from Kansai, he should use Kansai-ben. If he wasn't, then he shouldn't use it. All this mixing and matching of speech was just pure new-age foolishness.

"More importantly," the boy pressed her in his odd accent, "where'd you get this?" He waved the shoddy charm, cheap bell jingling irritatingly with the movement.

Izumi pursed her lips further and put a hand to her hip, "Young man –"

"Rokuta."

Izumi stared at the child who'd had the gall to interrupt her. "Excuse me?"

"The words _'young man'_ so don't fit me, it's not even funny. Call me Rokuta."

"_Young man_," Izumi raised her voice, "I don't care who's been derelict in teaching you manners, but you _do not_ pick up other peoples' things and pester them with questions you have no right to ask!"

Rokuta scowled at her. "One could equally say you don't throw away stuff other people made for you." He jingled the charm again, that tin-like jingle grating on Izumi's frayed nerves. "This made by a kid? Your grandkid?"

"You have no right –"

" 'bout ten, is he?"

Izumi stopped short, startled.

Rokuta grinned again, before his face suddenly darkened. "He must have put a lot of time into making this. Throwing it away is a pretty shitty thing to do."

Izumi flushed, indignation once again overtaking her surprise. "I will thank you to mind your own business," she snapped. "By what right are you sticking your nose into what I do to my own things?"

"Well," Rokuta scowled right back at her, "if I had to name any reason in particular that made me stick my nose in, it would be a hatred of tyranny."

"You truly have no mother to teach you a speck of manners!" Izumi snapped and turned on heel, storming away to catch her train in a foul temper.

As she turned, she could have sworn she saw a strange shadow flit along the floor, disappearing where it neared her own. But when she turned to get a better look, there was nothing there at all.

Not even the hateful boy remained.

* * *

"What a stubborn child!" said a voice thick with the Kansai-ben of this century.

Another voice, a smaller trembling voice, spoke up in quavery Kanto-ben. "Mother, please… please let him back inside. I'm sure he feels sorry..."

"If he feels sorry, then why won't he apologize! He could at least cry a little. Even a little bit would let people know that he feels bad."

"Mother… you don't have to be so harsh…"

"It's because you dote on him so much that he's become so stubborn!"

"But..."

"You young mothers today only know how to please your children. What children need is strict discipline."

"But Mother… what if he gets a cold..."

"He's not going to get a cold from a little bit of snow. —You listen to me! Until he sincerely apologizes, he's not allowed in this house!"

Below lay a house like one of a well-to-do farmer in Rokuta's youth. Through the paper door facing the rear courtyard, the figures of two women arguing could be seen. Out in the yard itself, in the fast falling snow and growing dark of the short winter day, was a child very small for ten. He was clad in nothing by thin cotton pajamas and was desperately huddled inwards for what meagre warmth his own body would provide.

_What the hell is wrong with this family?_

High up atop an electric pole on the nearby street, Rokuta glanced at the sky above him. The position of the rising moon indicated the child had stood out in the snowy yard for over an hour already. Rokuta himself was pretty damn cold by now, and he at least had all his extremities covered.

"Come on, Renrin," he muttered under his breath, looking up at the sky impatiently.

He stole another glance down in the courtyard, where the child continued to freeze while the two adults argued, nice and toasty in their warm house.

"Poor chibi," Rokuta muttered, glancing back up at the sky again. Suddenly, he felt it.

A world not of this one approached.

As the roaming gate drew near him, Rokuta called, "Over here, Renrin!"

The gate focused, shifting to behind the storage building in the far end of the courtyard. As the bare forearm of a woman emerged, the shivering child turned to face it. The pale white hand beckoned, and he immediately turned to walk over, an intrigued look on his face.

As soon as he was within reach, the white hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him through. The gate vanished behind him and the falling snow erased his footprints, leaving no trace that he'd ever been there at all. Inside the house the women continued to argue, too caught up in their fight to notice that the source of their argument was gone.

Rokuta shot their silhouettes a slightly condemning look and stood. He spread his arms like a bird's as he tilted his center of gravity and freefell off the electric pole. Yet no body hit the ground. Instead a single streak of bright gold light, like a shooting star, shot through the night sky, leaving behind the world below.

* * *

**/****

**The bit with Kaname's elementary school teacher is lifted from chapter 2 of _Shore of the Maze_.**

**As I was rereading _Demon Child_ in preparation for _Shirogane no Oka, Kuro no Tsuki_ (the next Taiki book coming out in October), I was struck by this line.**

_**"My grandmother was scarier than my parents. That time, she hit me mercilessly."**_

**O.o**

**... I guess the physical child abuse got censored from the anime? Or maybe they missed that line like I did the first time I read _Demon Child. _In either case, that blink-and-you'll-miss-it line was the spark for this whole fic, as it suddenly hit me that Taiki's childhood was darker than I'd previously imagined ... and I had imagined it pretty dark to begin with!**

****/**


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